Megan's Mate Read online

  close, his big hand over Kev­in's small one. Jenny was sitting adoringly beside him, and Alex was playing highwire on a joist.

  “Hi, Megan! Look, I'm the death-defying Alex.” In his excitement, Alex nearly lost his balance and al­most plunged a harrowing eight inches to the ground. He pinwheeled his arms and avoided disaster.

  “Close call,” she said, and grinned at him.

  “I'm in the center ring, without a net.”

  “Mom, we're building a deck.” Kevin caught his bottom lip between his teeth and pounded a nail. “See?”

  “Yes, I do.” Briefcase in tow, Megan stopped to pet the eager puppy who fell over backward in enthusi­asm.

  “And it's my turn next.” Jenny batted her eyes at Nathaniel. “Isn't it?”

  “That's right, sugar. Okay, Captain. Let's drive that baby home.”

  With a grunt of effort, Kevin sent the nail into the board. “I did it. I did the whole board.” Proudly, Kevin looked back at his mother. “We each get to do a board. This is my third one.”

  “It looks like you're doing a good job.” To give the devil his due, she smiled at Nathaniel. “Not everyone could handle it.”

  “Just takes a steady eye and a sure hand. Hey, mates, where's my timber?”

  “We'll get it.” Alex and Kevin scrambled together to heave the next plank.

  Standing back, Megan watched the routine they'd worked out. Nathaniel took the board, sighted down it, set it in place. He tapped, shifted, using a small block of wood to measure the distance between the last board and the new one. Once he was satisfied, Jenny wriggled in front of him. She wrapped both little hands around the hammer, and Nathaniel, a braver soul than Megan had imagined, held the nail.

  “Keep your eye on the target,” Nathaniel warned, then sat patiently while her httle strokes gradually anchored the nail. Then, wrapping his hand over hers, he rammed it home. “Thirsty work,” he said casually. “Isn't it, mates?”

  “Aye, aye.” Alex put his hands to his throat and gagged.

  Nathaniel held the next nail. “There's some lem­onade in the kitchen. If someone was to go fetch the pitcher and a few glasses...”

  Four pairs of eyes turned on her, putting Megan firmly in her place. If she wasn't going to be a car­penter, she'd have to be a gofer.

  “All right.” She set the briefcase down and crossed the finished portion of the deck to the front door. Nathaniel said nothing, waited.

  Seconds later, a shrill wolf whistle sounded from inside, followed by a muffled scream. He was grin­ning by the time Bird squawked out his invitation: “Hey, sugar, buy you a drink? Here's looking at you, kid.” When Bird began to sing a chorus of “There Is Nothing like a Dame,” the children collapsed into fits of laughter.

  A few minutes later, Megan carried out a tray of drinks. Bird's voice followed her. “ 'Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score!'“

  She arched a brow as she set the tray on the deck. “Bogart, show tunes and poetry. That's quite a bird.”

  “He has an eye for pretty women.” Nathaniel picked up a glass and downed half the contents. He scanned Megan, taking in the tidy French twist, the crisp blouse and slacks. “Can't say I blame him.”

  “Aunt Coco says Nate needs a woman.” Alex smacked his lips over the tart lemonade. “I don't know why.”

  “To sleep with him,” Jenny said, and caused both Nathaniel and Megan to gape. “Grown-ups get lonely at night, and they like to have someone to sleep with. like Mom and Daddy do. I have my bear,” she con­tinued, referring to her favorite stuffed animal. “So I don't get lonely.”

  “Break time.” Nathaniel gamely swallowed his choke of laughter. “Why don't you guys take Dog for a walk down by the water?”

  The idea met with unanimous approval. With war whoops and slapping feet, they raced off.

  “Kid's got a point.” Nathaniel rubbed the cold glass over his sweaty brow. “Nights can get lonely.”

  “I'm sure Jenny will lend you her bear.” Megan stepped away from him, as if studying the house. “It's a very nice plaoe, Nathaniel.” She flicked a finger over the sassy petals of a pansy. “Homey.”

  “You were expecting a crow's nest, some oil­cloth?”

  She had to smile. “Something like that. I want to thank you for letting Kevin spend the day.”

  “I'd say the three of them are working as a team these days.”

  Her smile softened. She could hear their laughter from behind the house. “Yes, you're right.”

  “I like having them around. They're good com­pany.” He shifted on the deck, folding his legs In­dian-style. “The boy's got your eyes.”

  Her smile faded. “No, Kevin's are brown.” Like his father's.

  “No, not the color. The look in them. Goes a lot deeper than brown or blue. How much have you told him?”

  “I—” She brought herself back, angled her chin. “I didn't come here to discuss my personal life with you.”

  “What did you come here to discuss?”

  “I came to get the children, and to go over your books.”

  Nathaniel nodded at her briefcase. “Got them in there?”

  “Yes.” She retrieved it, then, because she saw little choice, sat on the deck facing him. “I've finished the first quarter—that's January, February, March. Your outlay exceeded your income during that period, though you did have some cash flow through boat re­pairs. There is an outstanding account payable from February.” She took out files, flipped through the neatly computer-generated sheets. “A Mr. Jacques LaRue, in the amount of twelve hundred and thirty-two dollars and thirty-six cents.”

  “LaRue's had a tough year.” Nathaniel poured more lemonade. “Holt and I agreed to give him some more time.”

  “That's your business, of course. Traditionally there would be late charges on any outstanding ac­count after thirty days.”

  “Traditionally, on the island, we're a little friend­lier.”

  “Your choice.” She adjusted her glasses. “Now, as you can see, I've arranged the books into logical col­umns. Expenses—rent, utilities, office supplies, ad­vertising and so forth. Then we have wages and withholding.”

  “New perfume.”

  She glanced over. “What?”

  “You're wearing a new perfume. There's a hint of jasmine in it.”

  Distracted, she stared at him. “Coco gave it to me.”

  “I like it.” He leaned closer. “A lot.”

  “Well.” She cleared her throat, flipped a page. “And here we have income. I've added the weekly ticket sales from the tours to give you a month-by-month total, and a year-to-date. I see that you run a package deal with The Retreat, discounting your tour for hotel guests.”

  “Seemed friendly—and like good business.”

  “Yes, it's very smart business. On the average, eighty percent of the hotel guests take advantage of the package. I... Do you have to sit so close?”

  “Yeah. Have dinner with me tonight, Meg.”

  “No.”

  “Afraid to be alone with me?”

  “Yes. Now, as you can see, in March your income began an upswing—”

  “Bring the boy.”

  “What?”

  “Am I mumbling?” He smiled at her and slipped her glasses off her nose. “I said bring Kevin along. We'll take a drive out to this place I know. Great lob­ster rolls.” He gave the word lobster a broad New England twist that made her smile. “I can't claim they're up to Coco's standards, but there's plenty of local color.”

  “We'll see.”

  “Uh-uh. Parental cop-out.”

  She sighed, shrugged. “All right. Kevin would en­joy it.”

  “Good.” He handed her glasses back before he rose to heft another board. “Tonight, then.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why wait? You can call Suzanna, tell her we'll drop the kids off at her house on the way.”

  “I suppose I could.” Now that his back was to her, she had no choice but to watch the rippl
e of muscles play as he set the board. She ignored the quick tug at her midsection, and reminded herself that her son would be along as chaperon. “I've never had a lob­ster roll.”

  “Then you're in for a treat.”

  He was absolutely right. The long, winding drive in the spectacular T-Bird was joy enough. The little vil­lages they passed through were as scenic as any post­card. The sun dipped down toward the horizon in the west, and the breeze in the open car smelled of fish, then flowers, then sea.

  The restaurant was hardly more than a diner, a square of faded gray wood set on stilts in the water, across a rickety gangplank. The interior decoration ran to torn fishnets and battered lobster buoys.

  Scarred tables dotted the equally scarred floor. The booths were designed to rip the hell out of panty hose. A dubious effort at romantic atmosphere was added by the painted tuna can and hurricane globe set in the center of each table. The candles globbed in the base of the cans were unlit. Today's menu was scrawled on a chalkboard hanging beside the open kitchen.

  “We got lobster rolls, lobster salad and lobster lob­ster,” a waitress explained to an obviously frazzled family of four. “We got beer, we got milk, iced tea and soft drinks. There's French fries and coleslaw, and no ice cream 'cause the machine's not working. What'll you have?”

  When she spotted Nathaniel, she abandoned her customers and gave him a hard punch in the chest. “Where you been, Captain?”

  “Oh, out and about, Jule. Got me a taste for lob­ster roll.”

  “You came to the right place.” The waitress, scare­crow-thin with a puff of steel gray hair, eyed Megan craftily. “So, who's this?”

  “Megan O'Riley, her son Kevin. This is Julie Pe­terson. The best lobster cook on Mount Desert Is­land.”

  “The new accountant from The Towers.” Julie gave a brisk nod. “Well, sit down, sit down. I'll fix you up when I get a minute.” She swiveled back to her other customers. “You make up your mind yet, or are you just going to sit and take the air?”

  “The food's better than the service.” Nathaniel winked at Kevin as he led them to a booth. “You've just met one of the monuments of the island, Kevin. Mrs. Peterson's family has been trapping lobster and cooking them up for over a hundred years.”

  “Wow.” He eyed the waitress, who, to almost-nine-year-old eyes, seemed old enough to have been han­dling that job personally for at least a century.

  “I worked here some when I was a kid. Swabbing the decks.” And she'd been kind to him, Nathaniel remembered. Giving him ice or salve for his bruises, saying nothing.

  “I thought you worked with Holt's family—” Me­gan began, then cursed herself when he lifted a brow at her. “Coco mentioned it.”

  “I put in some time with the Bradfords.”

  “Did you know Holt's grandfather?” Kevin wanted to know. “He's one of the ghosts.”

  “Sure. He used to sit on the porch of the house where Alex and Jenny live now. Sometimes he'd walk up to the cliffs over by The Towers. Looking for Bianca.”

  “Lilah says they walk there together now. I haven't seen them.” And it was a crushing disappointment. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

  “More than once.” Nathaniel ignored the stiff kick Megan gave him under the table. “In Cornwall, where the cliffs are deadly and the fogs roll in like some­thing alive, I saw a woman standing, looking out to sea. She wore a cape with a hood, and there were tears in her eyes.”

  Kevin was leaning forward now, rapt and eager.

  “I started toward her, through the mist, and she turned. She was beautiful, and sad. 'Lost,' was what she said to me. 'He's lost. And so am I. Then she vanished. Like smoke.”

  “Honest?” Kevin said in an awed whisper.

  Honest wasn't the point, Nathaniel knew. The pull of the story was. “They called her the Captain's Lady, and legend is that her husband and his ship went down in a storm in the Irish Sea. Night after night while she lived, and long after, she walked the cliffs weeping for him.”

  “Maybe you should be writing books, like Max,” Megan murmured, surprised and annoyed at the shiver that raced down her spine.

  “Oh, he can spin a tale, Nate can.” Julie plopped two beers and a soft drink on the table. “Used to badger me about all the places he was going to see. Well, guess you saw them, didn't you, Captain?”

  “Guess I did.” Nathaniel lifted the bottle to his lips. “But I never forgot you, darling.”

  Julie gave another cackling laugh, punched his shoulder. “Sweet-talker,” she said, and shuffled off.

  Megan studied her beer. “She didn't take our or­der.”

  “She won't. She'll bring us what she wants us to have.” He took another pull of the beer. “Because she likes me. If you're not up for beer, I can charm her into switching it.”

  “No, it's fine. I suppose you know a lot of people on the island, since you grew up here.”

  “A few. I was gone a long time.”

  “Nate sailed around the whole world. Twice.” Kevin slurped soda through his straw. “Through hur­ricanes and typhoons and everything.”

  “It must have been exciting.”

  “It had its moments.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “I sailed on another man's ship for more than fif­teen years. Now I sail my own. Things change.” Na­thaniel draped his arm over the back of the booth, “like you coming here.”

  “We like it.” Kevin began to stab his straw in the ice. “Mom's boss in Oklahoma was a skinflint.”

  “Kevin.”

  “Granddad said so. And he didn't appreciate you. You were hiding your light under a bushel.” Kevin didn't know what that meant, but his grandmother had said so.

  “Granddad's biased.” She smiled and ruffled her son's hair. “But we do like it here.”

  “Eat hearty,” Julie ordered, and dropped three enormous platters on the table.

  The long rolls of crusty bread were filled with chunks of lobster and flanked by a mound of cole­slaw and a small mountain of French fries.

  “Girl needs weight,” Julie proclaimed. “Boy, too. Didn't know you liked 'em skinny, Captain.”

  “I like them any way I can get them,” Nathaniel corrected, which sent Julie off into another gale of laughter.

  “We'll never eat all of this.” Megan stared, daunted, at her plate.

  Nathaniel had already dug in. “Sure we will. So, have you looked over Fergus's book yet?”

  “Not really.” Megan sampled the first bite. What­ever the atmosphere, the food was four-star. “I want to get the backlog caught up first. Since Shipshape's books were the worst, I dealt with them first. I still have to work on your second quarter, and The Re­treat's.”

  “Your mother's a practical woman, Kiev.”

  “Yeah.” Kevin managed to swallow a giant bite of lobster roll. “Granddad says she needs to get out more.”

  “Kevin.”

  But the warning came too late. Nathaniel was al­ready grinning.

  “Does he? What else does Granddad say?”

  “She should live a little.” Kevin attacked his French fries with the single-minded determination of a child. “ 'Cause she's too young to hole up like a hermit.”

  “Your granddad's a smart man.”

  “Oh, yeah. He knows everything. He's got oil for blood and horses on the brain.”

  “A quote from my mother,” Megan said dryly. “She knows everything, too. But you were asking about Fergus's book.”

  “Just wondered if it had scratched your curiosity.”

  “Some. I thought I might take an hour or so at night to work on it.”

  “I don't think that's what your daddy meant by living a little, Meg.”

  “Regardless.” She turned back to the safer topic of the account book. “Some of the pages are faded badly, but other than a few minor mistakes, the ac­counts are very accurate. Except for the last couple of pages, where there are just numbers without any logic.”

  “Really. They don'
t add up?”

  “They don't seem to, but I need to take a closer look.”

  “Sometimes you miss more by looking too close.” Nathaniel winked at Julie as she set another round of drinks on the table. It was coffee for him this time. She knew that when he was driving he kept it to one beer. “I wouldn't mind taking a look at it.”

  Megan frowned at her. “Why?”

  “I like puzzles.”

  “I don't think it's much of a puzzle, but if it's all right with the family, I don't have any objection.” She leaned back, sighed. “Sorry, I just can't eat any more.”

  “It's okay,” Nathaniel switched his empty plate with hers. “I can.”

  To Megan's amazement, he could. It wasn't much of a surprise that Kevin had managed to clean his plate. The way he was growing he often seemed in danger of eating china and all when he sat down for a meal. But Nathaniel ate his meal, then half of hers, without a blink.

  “Have you always eaten like that?” Megan asked when they were driving away from the restaurant.

  “Nope. Always wanted to, though. Never could seem to fill up as a kid.” Of course, that might have been because there was little to fill up on. “At sea, you learn to eat anything, and plenty of it, while it's there.”

  “You should weigh three hundred pounds.”

  “Some people burn it off.” He shifted his eyes to hers. “Like you. All that nervous energy you've got just eats up those calories.”

  “I'm not skinny,” she muttered.

  “Nope. Thought you were myself, till I got ahold of you. It's more like willowy—and you've got a real soft feel to you when you're pressed up against a man.”

  She hissed, started to look over her shoulder.

  “He conked out the minute I turned on the en­gine,” Nathaniel told her. And, indeed, she could see Kevin stretched out in the back, his head pillowed on his arms, sleeping soundly. “Though I don't see what harm there is for the boy to know a man's interested in his mother.”

  “He's a child.” She turned back, the gentle look in her eyes gone. “I won't have him think that I'm—”

  “Human?”

  “It's not your affair. He's my son.”

  “That he is,” Nathaniel agreed easily. “And you've done a hell of a job with him.”

  She slanted him a cautious look. “Thank you.”

  “No need to. Just a fact. It's tough raising a kid on your own. You found the